


Astrolatry

by oldcoyote (contrawise)



Series: Displacement Verse [2]
Category: Marvel (Movies)
Genre: Crossover Pairings, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-12
Updated: 2013-07-12
Packaged: 2017-12-19 06:24:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/880482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/contrawise/pseuds/oldcoyote
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blaine Anderson should know better by now. But sometimes, falling in love with the wrong man at the wrong time doesn’t go as badly as you think it will. Part two of the Displacement Verse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Astrolatry

**Author's Note:**

> This AU Avengers/Glee crossover follows movie!Steve, who was frozen in late 1944 (age 26) and woke up in 2011, and an alternate Blaine, who’s 24 at the present day and lives in NYC. Set post-Avengers.

Blaine Anderson should have known better.

He told himself as much repeatedly as he answered his cell phone halfway home from work one afternoon, the tiny red, white, and blue symbol lighting up his screen and sending a grin across his face faster than lightning.

 _Steve_.

Steve always called, never texted. It was one of the little things that Blaine looked forward to on random afternoons; the trill of his cell in his pocket, usually soon after his shift ended.

“Hey,” he said, pressing the phone to his ear. “Coffee?”

Even as they agreed on a quiet nearby cafe, the warning bells rang in his head over again. _You should know better by now._

His regular encounters with Steve over the month since the elevator incident had become less a case of the occasional casual drink between friends, and more about finding another excuse to meet up, another way they could run into each other on purpose and call it sweet coincidence.

The first time Blaine came home from a random cup of coffee with Steve, he’d convinced himself the shake in his hands and the flutter in his belly were nerves. _Captain America_ , he reminded himself, _just bought me a fucking latte. Of course I’m nervous._

After the second time, he knew he’d made a mistake. 

Steve had walked him home that night after too long spent reminiscing over old songs and sharing new ones, and he’d waited politely at the bottom of the stairs to Blaine’s apartment - ever the perfect gentleman - until Blaine went inside.

But Blaine’s mistake came about the moment he paused on his ascent, and looked back over his shoulder.

Steve stood perfectly still in his old brown leather jacket and combed down hair, hands in his pockets, a soft, barely-there smile on his lips. He dipped his head in the slightest bow, and it struck Blaine in that moment that he’d never seen anything more beautiful than the man standing at the foot of the stairs, bathed in the glow of streetlights, painfully familiar and utterly strange all at the same time.

Fire flared inside him, sinking down in Blaine’s chest and settling neatly in his hips, lit by visions of blue eyes and broad hands and the thought of what those soft pink lips would feel like on his skin.

After he’d slipped into his apartment, Blaine groaned out loud, pressed his back against the closed door, and slid gracelessly down to the floor in a crumpled heap of arousal and realisation. 

 _Shit_.

He was fairly certain there weren’t any self-help books on what to do if you fell for your friendly local blue-eyed American hero.

Ending it early was the most sensible answer, he knew that much. Odds were, falling for your gorgeous _straight_ friend wasn’t something fated to end well. But with every call and every accidental meeting, the churning guilt would fade away, replaced by a warmth in his chest and an easy smile on his lips. 

Even with the nervous twist inside of him every time they met, Blaine knew he couldn’t walk away from this. Before he was anything else, Steve was his friend, and something about the way Steve looked at him - the way they talked for hours on end about nothing and everything - reminded him that Steve didn’t have too many of those.

Steve had told him once, somewhere in the weeks that went by too fast, that he felt like they’d met before. Impossible as it was, Blaine knew what he meant. There was something untouchable, something all-consuming and intoxicating about the way the air shifted between them in the quiet moments, the way it sent shivers down his spine. The way he could watch Steve walk beside him in comfortable silence and feel that ache of familiarity in every bone in his body. 

Even then, Blaine knew he should have the common sense to be at least a little afraid of what it meant.

But he wasn’t.

A month after the elevator, weeks after he’d told himself to back away and let it go, he still couldn’t stop himself from answering his cell and indulging in Steve’s company. 

_Just one more coffee._

This time it was a little corner cafe they hadn’t been to before, just a few blocks away from Blaine’s tiny Manhattan apartment. The sun was already setting sweetly over the skyline, bathing the world in deep gold by the time he found Steve’s table.

Every time he saw that smile across a crowd, it felt like the first time. He didn’t trip over his words as much, and his hands weren’t shaking anymore, but he knew the terrified and awed feeling was still there; the deep, heady warmth that curled tight in his belly every time Steve looked at him across the table.

He wondered if Steve could see it on his face.

 _He’s a hero, and you wait tables,_ the little voice inside teased. Blaine ignored it in favour of listening to Steve’s story about how he became intimate with the old alleyways of Brooklyn. 

_He saves lives, you sing open mic nights to drunken strangers._

Steve’s hand brushed along Blaine’s arm as he reached for his mug.

_You’re gay and he’s-_

“It’s getting late,” Blaine said distractedly, realising they’d lost the sun.

Steve glanced up for a moment before he gave Blaine a gentle nod. “I’ll walk you home.”

After he’d paid for their coffee, Blaine fell into step beside Steve along the footpath, wandering in companionable silence. Occasionally Steve would glance up, eyes unfocused and a little sad as he took in the hazy black coat of sky and the overwhelming absence of stars.

Blaine missed the stars. He’d taken them for granted in Ohio, and it wasn’t something he’d even considered when he moved away - losing stars. Nobody told him how they’d wash away behind New York City lights. 

He’d never thought about it before, but he realised in that moment that it hadn’t always been that way, even in New York. He spared a glance in Steve’s direction only to see that sad and far-off look in his eyes again.

_He misses them too._

They rounded the corner and started down Blaine’s block, brushing shoulders as they went and coming to an embarrassed stop. Blaine smiled and bowed sweetly, gesturing for Steve to go ahead.

Instead, Steve gave him a puzzled look, and, without a word, took Blaine’s hand to lead him down the street.

Blaine felt his heart stop in his chest. 

Somehow, his feet were still moving, he was still walking down the footpath, but he was certain that somewhere the world had ended. There was a large, strong hand wrapped around his, thumb curved over his own. Simple; like they’d held hands a hundred times before this moment.

Blaine remembered the day he told Steve he was gay. 

It was the fourth time they’d had coffee, and a part of him was terrified that Steve would stand up and leave. Still, he managed to get it out, hands trembling under the table all the while. Steve had simply blinked at him, face drawn briefly in confusion, before he’d smiled and nodded politely. 

It was a strange reaction, or at least Blaine had thought so at first. Google later informed him ‘gay’ didn’t really mean anything but _happy_ before the 1950s.

Their fifth meeting was a little more awkward for Blaine’s bumbling explanation, but again, the reaction was unexpected. Steve just seemed grateful for the clarification in the use of language, and filed it away for future reference. Nothing more was said.

Blaine had wondered more than once in those early weeks if Steve was actually real. It seemed so impossible for someone like him to exist at all, and yet there he was; the beautiful, awkward giant who took Blaine’s hand on a street corner, as if it meant nothing at all.

When they reached his apartment, the streets were empty. Steve let go of his hand just as easily as he’d taken it up, saying a soft goodnight and assuming his usual position to wait at the bottom of the stairs.

Blaine was three steps up before he stopped, heart pounding and pulse racing, with the ghost of another man’s hand still lingering on his palm. 

_He held my hand._

“Do you want to - come upstairs?”

He barely even registered that the words had left his lips. He didn’t even remember turning around. But now it was out there; his voice ringing on the quiet night air over the grumble and honk of passing cars on nearby streets.

“No, thank you, I should - _oh_.” Steve’s eyes went wide. He’d begun with his usual overly polite declination and skidded to a firm halt, stunned and breathless and staring up at Blaine with a look of absolute surprise on his face.

_He just realised what it meant._

“That is,” Steve began, “I should - we - I gotta - there’s just - I - I -”

Blaine couldn’t help his broad smile. Steve was adorable when he stammered, when his ears went pink and he blinked too quickly. _How are you real?_

“It’s okay,” Blaine insisted a little too loudly, certain his heart was about to explode it was going so fast, “I know we’re not… technically…” his voice trailed off.

Steve seemed to be at a complete loss, trying to process the situation and figure out the most polite response.

Blaine huffed out a quiet laugh at his own idiocy. 

“Technically, I guess, I don’t know what we are. But I… look forward. To you. To seeing you,” he corrected himself in a rush, feeling his cheeks flush hot. “We can just have a drink. Or meet up for coffee again some other time. Or you know, we could,” (he was babbling, he could hear himself babbling, but he couldn’t stop) “go see a movie or-” _Stop! Oh my god, stop talking!_

“What I’m trying to say is,” he took a deep breath, “I… like you.”

He heard his voice crack on the last two words and winced. _Smooth._

Steve’s mouth was still open in shock and his lips trembled visibly, eyelashes fluttering as he blinked in awe. Blaine felt his knees wobble from his view three-steps-up as it struck him that somehow, even someone like Steve could manage to look fragile.

“I… like you too,” Steve said carefully. “I don’t know - what this is. But I do.”

Blaine swallowed nervously, fighting the fluttering feeling in his stomach and the rampant dialogue in his head. _He’s from another time. He’s from another time. It probably doesn’t mean the same thing._

“I can’t come upstairs,” Steve said suddenly, eyes flicking to the door over Blaine’s shoulder.

Blaine nodded numbly. “That’s okay.” His own voice sounded so far away.

“But-” Steve reached out to stop him before he could turn around, and their fingers brushed before Steve’s hand dropped to his side awkwardly.

Blaine felt the air rush out of his lungs at the contact, and it took him a moment to register that Steve’s eyes were trained on his mouth.

_Oh._

“You know that I am… uh,” _Gay as a maypole._ Blaine thought, his eyes drifting to the slight part of Steve’s lips. “But you never said. You’re - not gay. Are you?”

Steve drew in a sharp breath.

“Steve,” Blaine whispered.

“I-”

“It’s okay,” Blaine insisted, trying for a comforting smile. “I understand. You don’t have to say, I shouldn’t have-”

“No - it’s just,” Steve mumbled, shifting up a step slowly. “I have a computer. _Laptop_ ,” he corrected himself clearly, as if some invisible voice had just reminded him to use the right word for it. “I looked it up. What you told me about. But I’m - I don’t know. I’ve seen- I mean, I’ve seen a lot of men, my squadron, we’ve been- I mean, I’ve never felt…”

Blaine couldn’t help the smile that crept over his lips.Even in the dim street light, Steve was beautiful; eyes huge and searching, voice cracking; so painfully eager to say what he meant, but unable to find the words, stumbling over the ones he had.

“You like women,” Blaine offered.

“That’s a little general,” Steve suggested.

“You like _a_ woman?” Blaine teased, and mentally kicked himself.

“I did,” Steve confessed shakily. “But that was before.”

Blaine froze.

“Before what?”

Steve drew a deep breath and his eyes found Blaine again, bright and pained and glittering in the lamplight. Blaine felt his stomach twist into a tight knot, spurred by the surge of panic and excitement that shot straight down to his toes.

“Before you.”

Blaine didn’t know if he moved first or if Steve did, or if they’d both closed the gap at the same time - but he knew what a good kiss felt like, and this was something else entirely.

It felt like a hurricane had torn him off the face of the Earth, and he was lost on the winds, coiled tight and safe in a grip he never wanted to be let out of. Steve tasted like black coffee and sugar, warm and deep and strong in every sense of the word.

Blaine was pretty sure his feet weren’t on the ground anymore, but he didn’t care. There were strong, broad hands on his hips, fingers spread across his skin where his shirt rode up, holding him up, squeezing him tight as he pushed both hands into Steve’s hair and kissed him harder, and the world came crashing down.

When they pulled apart, they were both panting, dizzy and blinking at each other, both flushed with surprise and embarrassment.

“I’ve never done that before,” Steve admitted timidly.

Blaine could feel the blood pounding in his ears, the pendulum swing of lightheadedness and the awareness that he probably couldn’t stand up straight if his feet were on solid ground right now.

_That wasn’t a kiss, it was a nuclear event._

“I’ll be honest with you,” Blaine managed to say, “neither have I.”

Steve’s tiny chuckle caught him off guard, and Blaine felt the familiar warmth of it spread through his chest.

“You can put me down,” Blaine offered awkwardly, realising he was still dangling.

Steve’s cheeks flushed pink again. “Oh, I’m sorry,” he said, lowering Blaine onto the step.

“You really,” Blaine stumbled and regained his balance, his knees still a little unsteady, “ _really_ don’t have to apologise for that.”

He caught the bow of Steve’s head as he looked shyly down at his feet.

“You’re sure you don’t want to - come up?”

“Not tonight,” Steve replied, sounding like he was mostly trying to convince himself. “It wouldn’t be…”

“Gentlemanly?” Blaine offered, his voice a little too high.

“Yes,” Steve said, a slightly dopey smile still spread across his face. “But… we could, uh… coffee?”

“Tomorrow?”

Steve nodded. “That would be wonderful.”

Blaine wet his lips, trying to get words past them. “Goodnight. _Steve_.”

“Goodnight, Blaine.” 

He did his best not to fall down the stairs as he made his way to the door. It was harder still not to look over his shoulder every second step to make sure Steve was still there, still staring up at him. He managed five steps before he looked back and grinned sheepishly, teeth grazing over his bottom lip. 

Steve’s eyes were closed, and he’d swayed back just slightly on his feet. His hair was mussed - the most out-of-place Blaine had ever seen it - and his lips were dark pink and still wet. Blaine felt his knees threaten to give out again, but managed to reach the door handle to keep himself upright, hauling himself inside and stumbling down the corridor to his apartment.

He’d left the TV on; he could hear the sound of hooves and the mumble of voices as the door slipped shut behind him. The end of _Calamity Jane_ was playing out on some classic movie channel he’d been watching the night before.

This time, Blaine pressed his back against the door and slid down the wood into a heap on the ground, kicking his legs out in front of him and tipping his head back with a grin.

 _Once, I had a secret love,_ the TV crooned at him.

“I know the feeling, Doris,” he said aloud, ignoring the echo around his shoebox of an apartment. 

He closed his eyes and thought of what Steve’s face might look like if they went out some time, some place where the sky was clear, just to look at the stars.

_So I told a friendly star_

_The way that dreamers often do_

_Just how wonderful you are_

_And why I’m so in love with you_

_~ FIN ~_


End file.
